


Misty silhouettes

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mention of torture, Public Nudity, injuries, magnusen was always sick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were made for each other. In this lifetime and other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaybeItsJustMyType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeItsJustMyType/gifts).



> So this will be a multi-chapter fic, with multipl-lives AU scenarios. Giving this format a try. Its all about Sherlock and Molly. Always, always...

**This chapter is set in the Indian Subcontinent, somewhere around 320BC.**

**Characters are**

**Malini (name of a Goddess of power and strength) - Molly Hooper**

**Prince Shourya (which means brave) – Sherlock**

**Prince Manoj (means someone born with a great mind) - Mycroft**

**Princess Janani - Janine**

**And yes, there were female warriors then.**

* * *

 

 

The riders were galloping towards the main gates, their staff flying high. The swirling sand was following them. It was going to be a close contest for the Prince to reach the fortress borders before his team got swallowed by the billowing dust and what evil lay within.

“Shall we open the gates now?” a soldier nervously asked her.

“No,” Malini intoned calmly, showing no trace of the nerves she felt. “Let the Prince cross the outer line and only then open the gates. I do not want any of that cursed dust to enter the fort.”

As if sensing this, the retreating party formed a narrow group, the horses now galloping in threes. As the Prince’s steed passed the first line of stone structures, gears of the massive gates were set in motion.

The porous stones of the outer line had been soaked overnight, resulting in them being dry but cold by the time the Prince returned. These cold pores sucked in the hot sand that was closest to the retreating party, for a split second showcasing the horrors hiding behind.

At Malini’s command, man and beast turned the lifting mechanism, with similar such porous wall rising from the ground, swallowing more and more of the hot sand.

As the last of the party rode inside, the fortress gates slammed shut. The same time, Malini gave her orders, resulting in her archers raining down poison tipped, fire tipped and such arrows on the attackers.

Their dust cover pulled away, the attackers were revealed to be human, with intricately placed fans blowing up sand from cleverly placed wagons. The monsters were nothing but wooden cut-outs, providing the perfect cover.

As their structures burnt and men fell, Malini gave orders for a horn to be sounded, which raised the cover over dug-outs near the outer wall hiding another platoon of soldiers, adding fortification from the rear end. Their escape route cut off, the intruders started fighting desperately. Observing from her post, she saw few of the enemy soldiers moving surreptitiously towards the young Officer leading the rear charge. Finding no way or time to signal the danger, Malini cut one end of the rope secured to the turrets, and swung down the high wall. Shoving a dead rider off its horse and mounting the excited animal, she galloped towards the outer lines.

She reached just in time to engage the enemy soldiers and save the young Officer. This encouraged the platoon to fight harder, slaying enemy soldiers and capturing their leader. But before he could be secured, he swallowed a vial of poison hanging on his neck and the platoon could return only with a soldier frothing at the mouth, dying a painful death, his secrets safe.

And with him died what could have been a source of information on the recurring attacks on the kingdom of Jalaark. 

* * *

 

The King of Jalaark presented an old, tired but determined picture. But his brave face could not hide the worry in those wise eyes.

“This kingdom is doomed, dear Princes. The sand is encroaching from the west, the raging river waters from the east. The mountains to the north are caving in or throwing whatever they can at us with all their might. The south seemed like the only solace for my people, but that hope too fades daily. Attacks from these marauders were earlier limited to the borders. As you saw, they are now emboldened enough to attack right at the heart, like buzzards circling a dying prey. We were saved today because of your ingenuity and bravery, but what about tomorrow?”

He sighed deeply and smiled at Shourya.

“Now you can understand my insistence on advancing the wedding date Prince Shourya. Once my Janani is safely sent away with you, I can focus on this new nightmare.”

Shourya was about to argue when his older brother, Prince Manoj spoke up.

“We are aware of the troubles you face, oh good King. My father hasn’t recovered enough from his malady to travel, but he has given me strict instructions to return only if his new daughter-in-law accompanies us. You can start the wedding preparations; I will provide any assistance I can.”

The old king rose from his throne and walked up to Prince Manoj, clasping both his hands in his old ones.

“You have lifted a huge burden off my shoulders, dear Prince. Five days from today, we will have the wedding ceremony.”

As he was congratulated, Prince Shourya presented the pleasant, smiling face that he was expected to, hiding the turmoil within. He had been mentally prepared to wed Princess Janani before he even arrived here, his brother having assured him of her beauty and intelligence. But ever since he had fought along with a warrior, whose face was covered except for her eyes, he had felt unsettled.

He had first met Malini just before dawn, when she had been busy sharing details with his brother of a previous attack by these ‘sand monsters’ that had left several casualties in its wake. The very fact that Manoj was discussing tactics and accepting her suggestions gave credence to her knowledge of warfare.

She had averted her eyes, her face lowered while addressing him, in the tradition of unmarried women addressing the prospective spouse of their royal heirs. But her words were confident, well thought out and succinct. He had felt some weird pride at that moment, also for some reason wishing she would look at him _once_.

His wish was granted just before he rode off early as per their plan, when Malini inadvertently glanced at him while surveying the small party he was leading. In that split second, her eyes had widened slightly before she looked away in deference. His mother’s side of the family had come to the Indian subcontinent from beyond the Hindu Kush Mountains, blue and green eyes pretty common among her people. But the ever changing blue-green-grey colour of his eyes was uncommon even by their standards, garnering attention that was a constant source of irritation for him… except at that moment. He had been pleased at her reaction, a small smile on his face as he rode away.

All such thoughts were banished instantly to the back of his mind as he concentrated on the task at hand; to encounter the approaching attack and provide some much needed diversion and time. Upon re-entering the relative safety of the fort walls, he had rushed to the ramparts to support his host’s soldiers, when he had seen a lithe figure swing off the walls and rush to the aid of a young soldier. He refused to think about why his heart almost stopped at her act, or the relief that immediately translated into anger when he saw her return unharmed. He had pointedly ignored the look his brother gave him at that moment, his raised eyebrow conveying that Manoj had not missed any of the action on either side of the fort walls.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is a dying country, Shourya; I’m sure you’ve noticed that. Hardly any birds fly these skies…the wind also blows mournfully.”

“Never guessed you to be a poet, dear brother,” Shourya commented dryly.

“When the end is near, it’s easier to find solace in words, reality being too harsh. After all, not all poetry is about happy instances.” Manoj turned away from the window looking over the palace grounds, his face solemn. “The next five days are critical; I have feeling there will be attempts on the King’s and Janani’s life. I don’t think either of us is in any danger, but it pays to be alert.”

“Do you know who is behind these attacks?”

“Hmm...They seem more out of retaliation, revenge of sorts; why else flog a dying horse, other than to make its death more painful?” Manoj replied. “These are old debts…our involvement is too late to be of any real help. There is _no_ version of this where Jalaark comes out victorious. And they _all_ know it…can sense it.” Giving his brother time to take it all in, Manoj made to leave. He was almost by door when he added quietly. “Do not involve yourself any more than necessary, Shourya. Some investments only lead to pain.”

Shourya turned to look out the window again, trying not to mull too much over his brother’s parting words. There were admittedly more soldiers on guard, the air heavy with anticipation of impending attacks. They were all waiting for the hammer to fall, all at their most alert. But their bravado was tinged with a shadow of resignation, a feeling he could not relate with the people who had fought alongside him so fiercely. He sighed and decided to retire for the night, the day’s activities finally catching up with him and the excess adrenaline finally leaving his system.

When he woke up the next morning, after a restless sleep, it was to find an air of excitement in the palace.

“You are getting formally engaged today, as you very well know, and the King has spared no expense. Get ready to be pampered and fretted upon, you _are_ after all the feted son-in-law,” Manoj teased, amused at the look of horror on Shourya’s face.

The day’s activities proceeded at what seemed to him, a slow and painful pace. He took the special scented bath, attended the _puja_ , visited the local deity and then finally arrived at the main palace hall that had been transformed overnight. The massive pillars were decorated with silk, there were garlands of scented flowers and rose petals were strewn around. The _mandap_ on which the consecrated fire burned was decorated by marigold garlands. The whole set up was festive yet understated; something he thanked Lord Shiva for.

He saw his prospective bride for the first time when she arrived with her father and senior members of the royal family, her face partially covered by a veil. He snuck a look when they were seated around the _Homa_ , when her veil was lifted. She had twinkling eyes, which were shy yet shone with a tinge of mischief. Which reminded him of another pair of eyes, which were conspicuous by their absence.

As if sensing the direction his thoughts were taking, Prince Manoj initiated the formal introduction between his brother and Princess Janani, starting the engagement ceremony. Even as the garlands were exchanged, conches blown in celebration and flower petals were thrown on the couple, a restless feeling continued to plague Shourya. He put on a brave and smiling face, but finally excused himself from the gathering.

“It’s ok, dear Prince. After _my_ engagement, I had disappeared on a weeklong hunting trip. It’s much easier to come to terms with your new responsibilities when away from your normal surroundings,” the old king had empathised, a knowing smile on his face.

Shourya nodded his head sharply and left, taking off the heavy garland around his neck and handing it over to his manservant. His feet led him towards a courtyard in the corner of the palace, where he had seen officers practicing their swordplay, hoping to find it empty so he could swing a few rounds. Approaching the place, he was about to command his orderly to take up a sword when the words died on his tongue.

The courtyard was occupied, but this time it was a feminine figure who was trying out what looked to be a newly designed weapon. It was slightly longer than a sword, but the blade was thinner, lending it a swaying action that needed precision to handle. Malini handled the weapon with grace, swinging it over her head and around her body, performing a deadly dance that ended up cutting the swords of her duel partners in half. Then, with a snap of her wrist, the blade straightened and she gazed upon it with admiration, before laying it on the platter a maid held. She looked pleased…almost _happy_ with the results, her eyes glowing even though her smile was hidden by her scarf.

It was one of the soldiers who noticed him first and curtsied, others following suit. Malini turned around to see who the visitor was, her eyes still shining as they landed on him. Her smile turned to a frown, she looked confused to see him there when he was supposed to be in the palace hall. She belatedly remembered to lower her gaze and curtsy, missing the range of emotions on the Prince’s face as she politely greeted him.

All this happened in less than a moment, but Shourya felt like time had stretched itself. Finding it difficult to breathe, he blinked rapidly, feeling out of sorts. Even as she greeted him in the proper, formal way, he was walking away. He had finally understood the seriousness of his brother’s warning to stay aloof, acknowledging now that it was all futile.

He had inadvertently lost a battle, his heart a lost cause.

 

* * *

 

**Hindu Kush – current Afghanistan**

**Puja – Hindu rituals for prayer**

**Mandap – Raised platform, like a dias.**

**Homa – ritual, where offerings are made into the holy fire**


	2. The one where he couldnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the story moves on. Angst alert!!!

**Again a quick recoup:**

**This chapter is set in the Indian Subcontinent, somewhere around 320BC.**

**Characters are**

**Malini (name of a Goddess of power and strength) - Molly Hooper**

**Prince Shourya (which means brave) – Sherlock**

**Prince Manoj (means someone born with a great mind) - Mycroft**

**Princess Janani - Janine**

**And yes, there were kick ass female warriors then..**

* * *

It was the quiet of the night that gave them away. Or rather, when the quietness translated into absolute silence, the guards knew something was amiss…and they were not wrong.

The silence exploded into chaos when a ball of fire dropped into the outermost courtyard, exploding, its shrapnel gravely injuring the guards nearby. The sudden light also blinded eyes that had adjusted to darkness, preventing them from seeing the ensuing fireballs.

Shourya was woken up by the noise to see his manservant already readying his armour and sword. Gearing up in no time, he joined his brother as they rushed off to deal with the attackers.

They were more bandits than soldiers, having excellent sword skills but lacking in discipline or proper tactics. It was apparent immediately as the intruders looked a bit indecisive after the initial surprise was over. The two princes as well as the King's royal guards managed to deal with them without too much effort or time.

Which seems odd, Shourya thought.

Still on alert, the head of the King's guard started to approach the fort walls when a shrill but barely heard whistle sounded behind them, resonating through the palace corridors. It was followed by a hollow whispering sound that voiced " _Take cover, protect the King_ ". Hearing which, the guards' Head turned around and ordered for everyone to take shelter. The warning came just in time, as more fireballs started raining on the palace, the night lit by the sight of fire floating in air before crashing and spreading its destruction.

"That was Malini; thank Lord Shiva the acoustic system still seems to work. Shourya, go to the King and Janani, and lead them to safety. Now!" Manoj ordered.

The second round of fireballs seemed to be aimed particularly at the main palace, causing concentrated mayhem. Shourya managed to avoid falling pillars and bricks, led to the King's chambers by one of his guards.

And he reached just in nick of time. Another band of intruders had snuck in and were being fought off the guards and the King. As Shourya joined the fight he was pleasantly surprised to see Janani joining them, proving to be an excellent swordswoman. They managed to fend off the attack, but the frail King did not escape uninjured, his arm heavily slashed by a desperate foe. The princess didn't bat an eyelid before getting rid of her  _angavastram_  and tying it around the wound and binding the arm to his shoulder.

With their exit cut off, the royals were hurried through a hidden door to an intricate network of tunnels, emerging just outside the palace walls, behind a dense tree cover, to a waiting band of horses. They barely had time to catch their breath and mount the waiting animals before they heard the sounds of approaching hooves. Staying undercover till the requisite signals were exchanged, they were met by Malini and some of her troops. Noticing the dust covered yet exposed princess, she hesitated before reaching up and untying the scarf covering her face.

As she did this, her troops looked away in deference while Shourya berated himself mentally for ignoring his fiancée's modesty. He  _was_  trying to get the father-daughter duo to safety after all. But one look at Malini's face made him forget everything, including the conflict around them.

There were scars on her cheeks, not completely healed. A serrated blade seemed to have made them, ensuring a very long and excruciating recovery. These were no battle wounds for sure. But the way the soldiers treated her, Shourya knew he was looking at signs of valour and utmost bravery.

He was again late in responding, one of Malini's horsemen offering her his sash, which she gratefully accepted and tied back around her face.

Sitting up straighter on her horse, she ordered more than half of her company to escort the royals to their next hideout. She then had a private audience with the King and the princess; the information relayed visibly deflating the old monarch.

Shourya's curiosity about this was forgotten when she shook her head, eyes lowered, at his insistence on rejoining the battle. "I had vowed that Jalaark will not shed any more royal blood; I seem to have failed in that." Looking at the King's profusely bleeding arm, she pleaded. "His wound needs to be tended to immediately, they use poisoned blades. The princess also needs to be guarded at all cost. There will be more attacks along the route. My men will provide an escort but they need a leader that I just cannot spare, Your Highness. I need to ensure that this madness finishes here and now, at the same time knowing the King is safe."

Shourya begrudgingly agreed and accompanied the party riding hard towards their safe haven, his eyes lingering back on the scarred warrior.

Malini's predictions turned out to be correct, the journey littered with attacks and their entourage significantly reduced by the time they reached their hideout in the hills. As Janani oversaw the King's treatment Shourya set about arranging and reinforcing the defences, their position still not completely secure.

The battle raged on as darkness was slowly swallowed up by the approaching dawn. Shourya stood on the ramparts looking down at the destruction, his frustration at being away from the field visible on his face. He was soon joined by Janani, the King's health stabilised as the poison in his wounds was treated.

As the sun's first rays fell on the valley below, a loud horn sounded, announcing the end of action and Jalaark's victory, however costly. Janani gasped at the sight in front of her eyes; the palace was almost completely gutted, the grounds burnt away as the final assault had taken place in the surrounding fields. Shourya grabbed a looking glass from a guard and scanned the field for familiar faces. He visibly relaxed when he saw a tired looking but active figure on horseback, scarf in place, accompanied by his brother, who too seemed to have escaped relatively unhurt.

"I can sense from your visible relief that Malini is alive!"

Shourya was taken aback at Janani's words; how had he been so transparent? He tartly responded "My  _brother_  is well and unhurt, though I can see that Malini is fine too."

Janani continued calmly, as if he had not spoken. "She is the last surviving member of the house of my father's personal guards; her father and brothers died while protecting the King during previous attacks."

"Previous attacks?"

"Yes, by my father's half-brother. Jalaark is dying," she replied, her face crumpling with sorrow, "we've all known it for years. But my uncle refused to believe it, blaming the King instead and trying to usurp the throne. We hoped he would see sense when his last coup failed and he was banished, but we were wrong."

"With no army to lead, he got in cahoots with bandits. Promised huge rewards, they helped him in setting up those 'monster' attacks. It was during one such attack that Malini almost got captured, getting those scars as she fought her way back…There was nothing  _left_  for my uncle to gain; my father had emptied the coffers in helping his subjects settle elsewhere. Malini informed us last night that my uncle was murdered when this fact became clear, and  _this_  attack was more of an angry retaliation by the bandits, a revenge for wasted efforts."

Looking over the destruction in front of his eyes, Shourya once again lamented against the stupidity of the human race. He suddenly turned to face Janani, speaking sharply, "The King's wound, Malini said they use poisoned blades. She too was attacked by these same bandits, wasn't she? I saw those scars; they are still raw…haven't healed…because she was poisoned too! … _She is dying, isn't she_?" He whispered the last words, aghast.

"Yes" Janani replied softly, "delay in getting her wounds treated made the poison stronger. Only draining them daily and treatment with  _tulsi_ leaves has prolonged her life, but …we are just counting time."

He tried to process this new information but his brain refused to cooperate. Neither it seemed, did his heart and lungs; one seemed to skip beating altogether while the other refused to take in air. "That's why the scarf," he finally murmured, "to hide the extent of the harm done." Bunching up his hands, it was all he could do not to scream out against the injustice of it all.

But his to-be-bride was very perceptive, noticing the emotions he was trying desperately to hide.

"I have known her all my life; known the  _girl_  behind that fierce façade, have always admired her. So… if you…if  _you_  too have realised that, have seen the  _purity_  behind that crude mask, I cannot begrudge you what you feel, can I?" She stuttered on the last words, before taking a deep breath and continuing, "I'm actually relieved…as only a man with a good  _heart_  can see and feel what you do."

Giving the startled prince a small sad smile, Janani went to look after her father.

Shourya then left the father-daughter duo and galloped to the battlefield to address the needs of the survivors who took no pleasure in their victory, knowing that their kingdom lay tattered and in ruins.

Manoj greeted him solemnly outside one of the tents set up to treat the injured, for once his eyes conveying his emotions as he firmly placed his hand on his younger brother's shoulder and sighed, "I'm sorry Shourya."

She lay inside with her eyes shut, surrounded by doctors tending to her wounds. The fight had further weakened her, lending a greyish tinge to her face. As the doctors finished applying the medicine to her scars, she opened her eyes, her pained but surprised gaze falling on a grimacing prince. Misunderstanding the reason for his frown, she went to cover her scars when Shourya moved and held on to the gauze, looking deep into those brown eyes and saying softly, "You don't have to hide your face, Malini. It's a pure sight."

Their eyes remained locked for a moment before she lowered her gaze and with a sigh, closed her eyes.

* * *

The wedding ceremony took place couple of days later, in the small yet miraculously untouched temple in the palace grounds. The handful of people who attended along with a frail yet recovering King, blessed the new couple with happier days ahead, the occasion bringing a rare smile to solemn faces.

The King was to retire to his  _Guru's Ashram_  the very next day, as Jalaark's monarchy ended.

As he left the fort with his new bride and brother alongside, Shourya was numb. There was no relief, no joy, no sadness. Just numbness that permeated his each and every cell. Their whole entourage had a slight melancholic air, knowing an era was ending. After going some distance up a hill, the party stopped to give Janani a moment, turning away to give her privacy as she gazed out her  _palanquin_  at her former home. It also gave Shourya a last chance to look for a face he knew he would never see again.

Till he saw her,  _somehow_  up on her horse, riding slowly next to her King. And he knew that was how he would always remember her.

They rode for ten days, finally reaching the safety and comfort of his kingdom. They were welcomed with joyous celebrations, the path to their palace lined on both sides by crowds cheering and showering the procession with rose petals, and blessings. The entire atmosphere was festive, as against the sombre air they had left behind.

Shourya soon received the news of the King's safe passage and arrival at the  _ashram_ , news that brought tears of joy and relief to his bride. But the numbness around his heart refused to leave. He carried on performing his duties, behaving perfectly like a new, caring husband.

Till one evening when he was taking a stroll around the palace gardens, trying to dismiss a feeling of unease following him since that morning. The clouds were gathering overhead as the first showers of monsoon seemed on schedule. As he neared the  _tulsi_  garden, a sudden feeling of melancholy took over. Finding breathing difficult, he sat down on a bench, the feeling of numbness being replaced by pain. A pain so deep that it felt like he was being ripped apart from within. He held his head in his hands, tears escaping his eyes as he felt as if his soul was withering. He felt sorrow like never before, all joy a distant vague possibility. He knew in his heart what was happening, something that he thought he had been prepared for. As his heart beat faster, he could sense another one slow down…the beats slowing…slowly…till there were none.

Empty. That's what he felt then. Empty of every emotion. Like a hollow shell, strong from outside but easily crushed by the storm now brewing inside and around him. As his tears stopped flowing, he raised his head, looking at the last sunset of what had been a special summer. The surroundings seemed to glow with a special aura, the diffused light lending an unreal feel. Then the glow around the setting sun seemed to expand slowly till it engulfed him in its warmth. Slowly, the numbness that had accompanied him from Jalaark was replaced by a feeling of peace. In that instant, he knew that her passing had been quick, that she had felt relief in her final moments.

And that she  _knew_  what he actually felt, that his aloof air had been but a mask. It was that final realisation that finally allowed him to freely breathe in the rain tinged air. He found solace in the knowledge that she knew she was loved, and that she wouldn't be forgotten when she finally passed to proudly join her forefathers. The falling raindrops mixed with his tears of relief, content that she had known peace as she breathed her last.

Turning towards his quarters, he saw Janani approach him with worried eyes. Offering her his hand along with his first genuine smile, he simply said, "Welcome home."

As the newlyweds stepped into the warm showers, it was all the sign he needed to know to let go of things that were just not meant to be, not in this lifetime. The old season was over and it was time to embrace the new one with open arms and an open heart, as the thundering clouds above seemed to agree.

.

.

.

.

.

As another loud crash sounded, he was startled enough to roll out of his bed and onto the floor below. He had forgotten to shut the window, the rain now falling heavily and almost soaking the floor. He rushed to close the shutters and then looked around his room, feeling utterly disoriented.

He had dreamt  _again_ , had woken up feeling equal parts desolate and hopeful. He tried to recollect what he had seen, but the thoughts were just beyond his reach and getting farther, like mist that was slowly evaporating.

This wasn't the first time it had happened, but it seemed more comprehensive, though he couldn't understand why he concluded that, as he couldn't remember anything anyway. Trying to get back to sleep seemed useless now so he got up and started working on the new designs. It had enough motifs to satisfy the church, to ensure that the hordes of fanatic religious marauders would stay away. After all, an artist had to earn his keep, even in this quasi new form of government the Emperor called democracy. He smirked, shaking his head, knowing that merely changing the name didn't change the rules.

Rome was just as bad as it had always been.

* * *

**_angavastram_  : A shawl draped on both shoulders, covering the bodice**

**_tulsi_ : Indian basil, said to have many medicinal values**

**_Guru_ : spiritual teacher**

**_Ashram_ : a hermitage, monastic community**


	3. The one where he wouldn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hadn’t abandoned this fic at all. The muse just went on an interstellar journey and was caught between different virtual realities and stuff. But am back…sorry for the delay, I’ve been wanting to update this fic since forever.
> 
> Story so far: Ancient India, Prince Shourya realises Malini is dead and finally embraces his wife Janini, while welcoming the first showers of the rainy season.
> 
> Also then waking up and hurrying to shut the windows to his room that will spoil his art. Rome was as bad as ever! Its a new lifetime!!
> 
> Also, thanks to Lilsherlockian1975 for going over this and being a listening post while I ranted about this WIP. She is a darling, trust me.

Shalonius sighed and stretched his aching limbs and back, having worked non-stop for hours. The main portrait done, it was the surroundings and the additional decorative motifs that pained him the most to draw. They couldn’t just have his subject occupy the portrait alone, no sir. He thoroughly hated the idea of designing the background, but then he did need to survive. So what had to be done, had to be done. “Two done, one more left,” he mumbled under his breath while being careful to reign in his ill temper.

The house of Horatius was currently employing him and so he was ensured of food on his plate and a roof over his head. His assignment was to draw portraits of all the three daughters of the family that would adorn the _domus_ , and then whatever further work they deemed him suitable for.

The older two daughters had been quiet and composed, very sure of how they wanted to pose. Their air of superiority that would’ve otherwise irked him, served him well when it came to making their portraits. The backgrounds were also conveyed to him with specifics detailed out. As such, he had little to no problem with them as subjects.

The youngest one, Marcella, posed to be his toughest work till date. She was irreverent, impulsive, full of energy and had a mind filled with questions. It had been two days but he had barely managed to get even a rough outline sketched. Her father, the rich trader Philto Horatius, had planned for her’s to be the first portrait as he had correctly guessed she would try the patience of any artist, no matter how poor or desperate. But Marcella ended up injuring herself whilst involved in duel with her male cousin. Though she had beaten her stronger relation, the victory hadn’t been without cost. Her cheek was swollen where the wooden sword has grazed her and her shoulder ached if she sat in a straight posture. And so her portrait had to be postponed.

Shalonius disliked an audience but had no say when she attended the session of her oldest sister. After a silence of thirty minutes, the first question was quietly posed. He ignored it, hoping she would get the hint. But the silence only egged her on, till the oldest sister Aconia had finally tersely ordered him to answer her sister. The resultant long conversation between them ended in him getting so distracted that Marcella was banned from further sessions. Philto had then asked Shalonius to draw portraits of both his older daughters before allowing his youngest in the studio, an order that he had heaved a huge sigh of relief at.

But he had guessed correctly that Marcella was bored and so had identified him as an interesting sparring partner. It started one early morning, when he had left his rooms to get some fresh air. Bumping into her near the copse of peach trees, he had profusely apologised, fearing punishment. But the girl had been amused and had laughed out instead, the early morning light illuminating her brown eyes. He had been surprised how the erstwhile plain face became so attractive, her thin lips accentuating her smile and rosy cheeks.

“You are smarter than you look, Shalonius. You don’t have to pretend to be… _deferential_ around me, not when you think of me as a simpering fool,” her first words had shocked him, though he could find no guile or malice. “I just say things as I see them, a practice that my parents have been trying very hard to suppress…with some success, I sadly admit.”

“I was just startled to see you, _mea domina_.”

“You have travelled a lot, Shalonius? Seen places, gained experiences, seen things, learnt from different people?”

“Which question would you like me to answer?” She had laughed at that too.

“Well, each one,” she had replied with a wide grin. “You never know when life as you know might change…though you might have some experience there. There has been a change in your demeanour since the time you arrived here. The composure gained out of an assured employment, I assume.”

He had stiffened at her teasing, and had been unable to stop his harsh tongue. “The composure that you tease me about is nothing but result of a full stomach and a stable roof. I doubt you would know the meaning of the loss of either.”

Her eyes had widened at his tone, she had stopped walking and had had the temerity to place her hand on his arm. “I am sorry if stating the facts seemed like teasing to you. But it’s true and I meant it in an encouraging manner. It’s only your composure that will ensure that you draw well. Only the confidence in your abilities will ensure that what you sketch on that canvas is suitable enough to grace the walls of this _domus_.”

He had pursed his lips, acknowledging that her words had been true albeit with more directness than he would’ve imagined any lady to use. Though they had parted ways with a formal air, Shalonius had quietly admired her candour. It wasn’t every day that he met a person who did not indulge in the flowery usage of language and was succinct in using their words. He had a feeling that Marcella Horatius was going to be extremely interesting, as a subject as well as otherwise.

It was further emphasized when what he had thought would be a one off meeting in the morning turned out to be a regular affair. Marcella would “bump into” him at various intervals during the day, in perfect view of anyone who may have bothered to see them. But her parents had actually heaved a sigh of relief that their daughter seemed to have found someone new to throw her verbal daggers at. Because her words had the power to stun or as well as extremely embarrass the listener.

Shalonius had found himself at the receiving end of a particularly strenuous grilling when Marcella discovered that he had indulged in drawing nudes for a previous patron. Her questions about the human body had been direct, inquisitive and with no sign of any coyness. It was this direct line of approach that had him gradually feel less scandalised and answer her without stuttering.

In a way, he had found her approach fresh and liberating. Once the topic of nudes and human anatomy was covered, it was easy to speak with her on any matter. She paid zero heed to customs, insisting he join her for a refreshing, cool lemonade or rice cakes, when she was in company of her family or teachers, early in the morning or just before sun down. It was a hint to her tenacity that her family sought relief in him holding her attention rather than suffer by being her audience.

She laughed loudly, she ran with full zest and she spoke her mind. In short, she was like no other woman Shalonius had ever seen or met before.

But this fact hadn’t escaped her family either. One evening, after a particularly heated debate where her mother had to intervene and calm Marcella, Philto had taken the young artist aside to speak with him.

“She is the youngest and I have humoured her a lot. In her I see shades of my wife that she herself seems to have forgotten. Marriage into a good family does that to a woman…makes her let go of her free spiritedness and grounds her. They are like kites, you let their string loose, let them fly high and only then do they become steady, soar proudly. And that’s _exactly_ what will happen with Marcella too,” he had patted the young artist on his back and left.

Shalonius didn’t miss the subtle warning in his patron’s words, a cautioning that he needn’t have mentioned at all. Shalonius had no interest in trading his freedom and art for domesticity, not when he was just about finding his feet after years of struggle, no matter how singularly interesting a woman she was.

And when he started working on Marcella’s portrait, he realised how truly unique she was. She didn’t want any embellishments or modification done. She wanted him to draw her as she was, with all the flaws and imperfections. She was comfortable with who she was and felt no need to hide it.

“Any man who I eventually marry, will see me as I am. My family already knows me very well. All the finery will be but a temporary distraction. Why showcase a falsity when the truth is in front of you,” she’d said.

He’d noticed something else too, a muted air around her that she chose to hide with a brazen approach. The emotion that would seep into her eyes when she sat in front of him posing, looking away, lost in her own thoughts. It was particularly clear one day, when she looked almost desolate.

“It’s a guilded cage, this life. Looks so pretty from outside, doesn’t it?” As usual he had been curt in his response, but she had continued to speak over him. “The bird gets good food, has a lovely swing to play on, golden bars that keep it in. All so pretty. All the while, she can see others fly high, soar above. You think she doesn’t see the hawks preying on other birds? Do you think she doesn’t understand the tough forage for food and shelter? But would any of those free flying birds willingly exchange positions with her? They wouldn’t, no matter how pretty you make the cage. They would still chose freedom.”

She had left the studio at that, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He had soon found out the reason behind her upset behaviour; she was going to be engaged to a merchant from Venice. She would soon be tied up in a life of domesticity, something that he now knew she abhorred.

All this knowledge about Marcella still did not prepare Shalonius for what happened next.

She had caught him in his studio, while he was giving the final touches to her portrait. She had come up to him and asked him directly without any preamble, “Will you marry me?”

He had stared at her, dumbfounded that she would ask him such a thing.

“Will you? If I get my father to agree, will you? Marry me? There is still time…”

“No,” had been his emphatic reply.

“Why not?” her voice was quite yet confused.

“Because you would be a distraction…a wife would mean less dedication to my art and I cannot let that happen. Besides, I cannot take care of you. You have been brought up in riches and comfort. I cannot provide you that.”

“I will be happy to share your empty plate, Shalonius.”

“But I no longer want to _ever_ have an empty plate. You cannot understand. Where did you get this foolish idea anyway? Why would you want to marry me?”

She’d been surprised at the annoyance in his tones but her had remained voice soft. “Because I thought we understood each other. I haven’t been hungry for food, but I yearn for freedom. I have always had a roof over my head, but I want to break away from these walls that hold me in. Being married, having babies…I want more than that, Shalonius.”

His cynicism was clear on his face as he shook his head. “You think it’s a romantic concept; being in love. Meeting someone who understands you. At the end of the day, the only currency that matters is the one that enables you to buy things. Besides, my art will suffer as I wouldn’t be able to work with the freedom I do now. Why would I want to sacrifice that? The few pennies your family will throw my way will not suffice. I have invested too much time and effort, waited too long for this. I will not throw it over a silly whim of a rich woman.”

She stood expressionless in front of him. The blinking of her eyes and the slow rise and fall of her chest were the only indicators that she was a living person and not a statue that Shalonius had carved.

“Is your decision final? Are you sure?” she asked in a steady voice.

“Yes, _mea domina._ ”

She had given a nod of her head, and then had turned her gaze to the canvas in front of her. “Good work, you replicate well,” she said and then left, her back proud and straight.

Shalonius had left the _domus_ the very next morning, his purse filled with more money than he’d even imagined. There was a feeling of a job well done, but also a tinge of remorse. There was a heaviness in his heart that he chose to ignore, trying to forget the brown eyes that watched him leave.

The journey to his next destination took a week, by which time reports of his work had reached the family through the grapevine. The amount of work offered would keep him occupied for the better part of two years, and he accepted the new offer without hesitation.

He jumped head on into it, working crazy hours, trying to ensure that his patron’s faith in him was proved correct. If he was tired enough at the end of the day, he would fall asleep immediately and would have no time to reminisce on his past decision.

But memories work in a funny way, like the illusive scent of a flower that catches you unawares and surprises you. Her memory had crept onto him as he rested after a hard day. He’d thought of the first argument they had had, the way she had parried, make him think and come up with genuine answers. He smiled at the thought, still feeling that he had made the right decision.

He continued believing that until he saw her again, a few years later at an art exhibition.

There was an air of resignation around her that she tried to cover with wide smiles. She had refused to meet his eyes, only nodding her head at him once. Surrounded by ladies of the high society, she had put on quite a show but that’s all it had been, a show. Shalonius had known her eyes, they had radiated life. Now they were just a pale shadow of their former self.

It had hit him then, the pain of missing a chance to live one’s life his or her own way. She was smiling and poised but he could see that she was just a shell.

When he went back to his quarters that evening and started drawing, he couldn’t stop. He remembered her laughter, her anger, the spark in her eyes…everything he had admired. He couldn’t stop till he was done. The portrait in front of him showed each and every little blemish on her face, the narrow lips, the upturned nose. But he had done well in capturing her eyes, eyes that showed her spirit and her vivacity. Eyes that showed a zest for life and a readiness to face any problem head on, without giving up.

Something that he had missed to notice altogether.

As he caressed the canvas, he recollected her last words to him. ‘A replica’ is what she had called the portrait he had drawn then. That’s what it had been, a mere copy as he had missed the very soul of the woman. He knew the Marcella from his memories had been a different person. She had been someone who had wanted to live, and now had looked as someone who just existed.

He finally admitted to himself that he had been wrong and that he would’ve flourished with her by his side. His mind and spirit would’ve received the fodder it needed. And she would’ve blossomed further. And she would’ve stood by him through thick and thin, she had been brave enough and had enough faith in her beliefs to face any problems they might’ve had, financial or otherwise.

Shalonius never saw her again, never even heard about her through the very discrete inquiries he’d made. Even as he travelled, he kept her sketch close to him at all times, holding on to it like his most precious possession…until that fateful day when it was lost in an accidental fire. He had cried desperate tears then, feeling desolation and loss like never before. He had tried to make another sketch but it had always been a poor copy.  Then as time passed, her face had grown dimmer in his memory, only his heart remembering her spirit. She had always reminded him of a bird in the golden cage, singing songs of freedom and free flight. A captive bird that had no real life in her gilded existence.

As he lay in a hammock under the stars, not for the first time did he wish he had been a little braver. She would’ve made him a better artist, a better painter…a better man. As he gave in to the hypnotic swaying motion and finally closed his eyes, he again admitted what a fool he had been.

.

.

.

He was woken from his slumber by the sound of knocking on his door. The increased swaying of the ship indicated that they had picked up speed, but everything else was quiet. He felt a bit disjointed, for some reason expecting to see stars above him, instead of wooden beams of his cabin. Shaking his head, to remove the gathered wool, he then turned towards the incessant knocking.

Opening the cabin door, he had stared at the young soldier who almost quaked in fear at his irritated demeanour.

“Pirates, my Lord.  We’ve spotted them!!”

He was suddenly awake, all sleep forgotten as he grabbed his coat and made for his ship’s deck. Oh, this was going to be a lovely action filled day!!

 

 

 

 _Domus_ \- a type of house occupied by higher classes in ancient Rome

 _mea domina –_ my lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a note and let me know how this is... It'll make my day...and make me write too.


	4. The one where he shouldn't have

“Hold on…wait…wait…and _fire!_ ”

As the canon exploded and the spray of water hit the _Shoehorn,_ Captain Schuyler Huygens felt a slight twinge of satisfaction. The canons were heavier but their range had increased due to the lengthened cylinders. His insistence on modifying the design was paying off as their guns were reaching the pirate ship, but leaving _Zr.Ms. Noordwijk_ untouched. She was the Dutch Navy’s fastest ship and Schuyler was going to do it all to confirm his Admiral’s faith in him. Not everyone got to command such a regal vessel at such a young age.

“Oh I will get you bastards if it’s the last thing I do,” he murmured before ordering for the next round of attack, unfolding the last of the sails to get the final burst of speed needed to run down the under-attack _Shoehorn_.

But if he had assumed that the fight would be an easy one, he was proven wrong. The pirates were toughened, wizened, adroit sailors; being more at home in these waters and having a few tricks up their long, slimy sleeves. But their greed was turning to be their undoing. The stolen gold they were running away with, boxes of ingots meant for the Royal Dutch treasury, weighed them down. The only fear that Schuyler had was that the gold would be thrown overboard as a last ditch attempt to escape by making the _Shoehorn_ lighter.

His fears were not unfounded. The dark was approaching and it would provide just the perfect cover the pirate ship needed to escape. The wind too had changed direction and then dropped, making the chase difficult. These were waters more familiar to the pirates than him and the dark would further make matters difficult.  It was as if the stars were conniving against him but this chase was far from over, he promised himself. Too many times had the _Shoehorn_ escaped, too many tricks were used and too much gold was lost. Now it was his pride and reputation at stake and that was a battle he never took lightly.

He had kept men on the lookout in all directions, irrespective of where the lead ship was sailing. And his plan paid off. One of the scouts came to report of a small ship, barely seen in the dark, and silently sailing at an angle, her dark sails making her almost invisible but for the keenest eye. Studying the water surface and the currents flowing, he could see that she was maintaining course with the _Shoehorn_.

As his chief mate cried out about approaching breakers and sandbars, Schuyler cursed his luck and the brigands, who seemed to have suddenly gained speed. It then dawned on him, the pirates’ escape plan. Almost laughing out loud, he marked the location of the sandbar and seemed to slow down and turn around. The presence of shallow reefs made the current move in a particular direction. Making a show of how he was unable to discern and follow the pirate ship, he let loose a few canons that fell harmlessly into the waters.

As the _Shoehorn_ disappeared, he advised his mate to turn around and hold the bows of the _Noordwijk_ pointing straight at the breakers, making her almost invisible to anyone approaching from the other end. Complete silence and absolute darkness was commanded. Staying in place they waited for what seemed like ages, till they saw what seemed like an illusion floating towards them. The small ghost ship approached, having come to collect the gold ingots thrown overboard, their position marked by boxes now almost floating in the shallow waters.

Schuyler waited till the all the boxes were hauled up, the effort visibly tiring the small crew. The slowly increasing banter and flickering candles gave away the now relaxed mentality of the pirates. Till he ordered the _Noordwijk_ to move around the breakers, shooting and catching the other ship unawares.

Pandemonium rained as the Navy attacked the ghost ship, with Schuyler smiling, “Got you!”

They had been able to salvage almost all the gold that was thrown overboard by the _Shoehorn_. The fact that the ship had escaped was a mild irritation in face of the recovered gold. Another day, another time, Schuyler promised himself, watching as the prisoners were brought on board and tied on the deck.

As he looked at the bedraggled lot dragged out of the sea, he had two of the prisoners shot and thrown overboard. He wasn’t having any man aboard who looked that _yellow_ or whose cough sounded _that_ wet.

When their captain made to protest, Schuyler himself threatened the man with his sword…which he then lowered in horror.

There were stories floating around that these waters were cursed, that black magic was in abundance. He had never spared those stories a thought to but it all seemed to be true…magic of the darkest type.

The ghost ship’s captain’s face was half covered by stringy locks of hair, his guttural grunts loud as his sick men were killed, the eyes calculating, calm yet stormy. The man whose face was uncovered when Schuyler threatened him, the man who now stared back at him with a mildly amused expression… was no man at all.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Melania, a sick but rich orphan, left with a considerable dowry by her dead father seemed like an ideal candidate to be his wife. Her health would prevent her from travelling much and Schuyler Huygens would fulfil his dreams and destiny with funds now lining his pockets. Things had gone fine; he had ‘met’ her accidentally, had seemed impressed with her and then wooed her.

She’d had no chance.

It would’ve proceeded smoothly, but for his brother making an appearance. With wine. Never a good combination, he rued.

His fiancée had overheard his boasts, her presence made known to him by the sound of breaking glass behind him.

All his subsequent grovelling and excuses had failed to elicit a reaction. In his drunken desperation, he had called her names, laughed at her presumption that someone like _him_ would love someone like _her_.

She’d disappeared a few days later, but not before signing off all her money to him. He had been delighted at the amount, shamelessly paying off the family debts and indulging in some gifts for himself. But soon he felt restless; his long repressed conscience was making its presence felt. He made discreet enquiries about her but made little progress. The last thread he picked up was of a very sick young woman who was feared drowned in the storm that had lashed the coast.

“And yet, here she stands,” the facsimile smirked.

What sorcery!

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

“Oh Captain, allowing a _woman_ on your ship…your soldiers would mutiny!”

He had her dragged, deposited and tied to a chair in the cabin just off the deck. He knew his sailors very earnestly believed in the bad luck a woman on a ship brought and didn’t want an alarm to be spread. Dismissing the others, he was interrogating the brigand alone.

And questions he did have, but none related to looting the Dutch Navy.

“My soldiers are too disciplined, so you can dispose of that _pirate_ thinking-”

“And yet! Those same pirates took on board a dying woman so she could watch the sun rise and set at sea. The same pirates who treated her like a human being– oh yes, kind words, Captain Huygens, are _magical_.”

He inhaled sharply, feeling miffed look but she continued with an unconcerned air.

“So what’s next? The gallows? Or the plank? What does this highly decorated Naval Officer prefer?”

Did she always have a dimpled smile? Schuyler mentally shook himself before biting out, “You would be handed over to Admiral Magnusen the day after while your men would face justice at sea.”

“Then why are you worried?”

“ _You’re_ not?”

“Worried that I might die - or not die _quick enough_?”

So she knew. He wasn’t known for acts of kindness himself but even he had winced at the sheer cruelty and sadistic pleasure Admiral Magnusen derived from handing out punishments.

“You would have a tough time once he knows you are a woman.”

“Oh I get the drift Captain Huygens. But then wicked and twisted minds have always taken an extra liking to us. Few actions would surprise or sicken me anymore!”

The sharp gleam in her eye disappeared before he could observe it further. Taking a step back, he actually _looked_ at her for the first time.

Her ruddy skin gave her a healthy appearance, her tough physique giving nod to a life of hardship. But she looked radiant, her eyes shining brighter than he’d ever seen. Life didn’t seem to be too easy since he’d last seen her, but she looked like she had thrived in those wretched conditions.

“The will to live can be found in the foulest of places,” she smiled cryptically but not before he noticed her wince. It was then he noticed the bloody binds tying her hands behind her back. Slicing the ropes with his knife, he noticed the cut on the inside of her wrist. It was old deep wound, now re-opened and still leaking. Though he silently admired her strength for ignoring what was obviously a very painful injury, he got some clean rags and tied the wound.

“You fought with _that_....impressive!!” he begrudgingly admitted.

“As you said, my fighting days are numbered anyway!”

He couldn’t understand her demeanour. He had seen men who bravely faced their death, but none who seemed almost _happy_ to do that. As he ordered her to be locked after handcuffing her, he went to bed exhausted but couldn’t sleep. And when sleep did pull him in, he dreamt of her in her earlier life. Waking up feeling unnerved, he had lain awake the rest of the night.

During all his fake smiling and wooing, there had been a smidgeon of genuine admiration for her quick thinking and empathic nature, but he had chosen to ignore or crush such thoughts. But now, surprisingly after all this while, it all came back. And added to the discomfort he’d felt on waking up.

The next morning had seen the sentencing of her crew, all of them shot in the head and thrown overboard into the shark infested waters. If Schuyler noticed that all of them had looked older and sicker in the morning light, he didn’t think too much of it. His crew refused to deal with the pirate captain once news reached that she was a woman.

“Its bad luck Captain, to have a woman on board. And especially in these waters. Let’s throw her over along with these men.”

But for the fact that Admiral Magnusen himself always dealt with the pirate captains, Schuyler felt he would’ve had a problem on his hands. The crew was assuaged only when he assured them that _he_ would deal with her and ask no one else.

An arrangement he had no problems with, there were just so many questions he had. He told himself it was only professional interest that made him break his fast in a hurry and go below deck to her cell.

She was sitting with her eyes closed, but the smile on her face told him that she was aware of his presence. Catching himself staring at her for an improbable amount of time, he cleared his throat.

“Why, Melania?” That was the limit of his eloquence that morning. She looked paler than the previous day, not surprising when all her men were just executed, but amusement shone in her eyes when she finally looked at him.

“My fiancé was interested only in my dowry, so I ran away…I wasn’t expected to live for long anyway.” She was now openly mocking him but instead of anger, he felt a tinge of regret. “Oh, and please save your breath. I am glad you turned out to be the blackguard you were. Imagine having to wear _corsets_ ,” she shuddered.

“Better that than the noose.”

“Say _you,_ Captain Huygens. But Admiral Magnusen wouldn’t hang me, no sir. His reputation for _sick_ behaviour precedes him,” she spat out.

And she was correct. Tales of torture at the senior officer’s hand were gut churning. Having personally seen the bodies and heard the sounds the prisoners made, Schuyler got more and more worried. About an hour before rendezvous with the Admiral’s ship, he almost pleaded with his prisoner.

“You can escape if you want. I can make it look authentic.”

“In shark infested waters, with an open wound?”

“You can take a boat.”

“And outrun the _Noordwijk?”_

His desperation was almost tangible when he offered, “I could shoot you. Make it look like an attempted escape.”

“Too late… _Schuyler_ ,” she smiled; her eyes resigned yet somehow _kind_.

It was the use of his name that almost undid him. After all this time and at such a wretched juncture, he finally admitted that he had made a colossal mistake. That he had been a fool, and no wonder he’d never found any other woman attractive enough to hold his attention for long.

But there was no time to mope, the shouts from above interrupted his revelations; the Admiral’s ship was here!

X-X-X-X-X

“It’s a bit sad that Captain Huygens got rid of the vermin, _someone_ should be sent back to convey our regards to your brethren. Of how we see you all. But people learn…stories travel. Its all good in the end. Isn’t it… _Melania_?”

Schuyler was shocked, the Admiral knew her by _name_. His reputation did him no justice, the man was indeed a depository of information. So if he knew _her_ name, did he also-

“Were you shocked Captain Huygens, to see your former fiancée in all her swashbuckling glory? - Aah, I see you were. Did you know she spent some time at the Middendam whore houses before sailing?” The Admiral’s casual tones sent a cold shiver down Schuyler’s spine, especially when he stepped right up to the woman and whispered, “I hope you learnt some tricks… or I can teach you some.”

Melania stiffened as the Admiral actually sniffed her neck, flinching but held in place by his men. Schuyler never felt more mortified than when her shackles were removed and her person thoroughly searched, stripping her in the process.

“Aah, you thought those magnificent breasts would distract me enough that I wouldn’t notice the knife tucked by your thighs…hmm, I like you’re thinking, my fierce kitten. Captain Huygens you definitely missed a chance, I can see this one will be a fighter… I _do_ like fighters in bed.”

With her handcuffs finally removed Melania tenderly rubbed her wrist while staring at the floor, the blood soaked bandages on her hand the only piece of cloth on her body. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with the effort. But the Admiral’s guards were closely watching _him_ , as if reading his very mind at that moment.

“You would be surprised how many officers or soldiers suddenly discover their good manners at this stage, they do protest so much. It kind of… _disturbs_ me and I don’t like to be disturbed.” Turning to the now naked woman in front of him, he smiled, “And to be fair my dear, I treat men the same way I do women. All equal in the eyes of the law after all.”

Admiral Magnusen held Melania’s elbow and led her inside his cabin. Schuyler was caught between being relieved at not being a spectator for the Admiral’s hideous actions and being horrified for the woman led inside.

The next five minutes were the most torturous of his life, but he couldn’t interfere what with both the Admiral’s guards guarding the cabin door. There was silence, till they heard a muffled sound before a thud, like a heavy body fell down. The guards shared a look, frowning. But they continued guarding their post.

Which turned out to be a mistake as Schuyler saw a bloody Melania silently emerge, covered in a tunic and holding the Admiral’s wicked scimitar in one hand and what looked like a thin long wire in another. He could only stare, his mouth agape as the wire hit one guard’s neck and then immediately snapped around it, cutting in deep while the scimitar took care of the other neck. Both guards were down without a sound.

“He should’ve thrown Irene’s body into the sea. He shouldn’t have hung it-…shouldn’t have _displayed_ it _,_ ” she sneered while breathing heavily, her face a white mask. “Death’s only cure for such _sickness_!”

She then looked up at him, teary eyed, “No one looks under the armpit once the breasts are exposed - I told Irene to stick the wire there…the fool, _the fool-_ if only she’d listened.”

There was a moment when the world stood still, where he only saw a grieving woman in front of him. But shouts from the crow’s nest broke the reverie; a pirate ship had been seen on the horizon.

“Bloody fools,” she muttered under her breath before grabbing the dead guard’s sword and running towards the ship’s side.

“ _Melania_ ,” he called out, holding her arm.

The wind whipped her stringy hair around her greasy face as she turned to face him. She had a few deep scratches and thumb marks on her throat, her mouth was slightly bleeding and her lip was swollen. She was breathing heavily, her tunic dirty, her hands and her exposed legs stained with the Admiral’s blood.

He knew would never see anything more beautiful.

The fact that _her_ mind wasn’t clouded was made clear when the next moment her sword cut his elbow deep, making him drop his own sword with a cry.

“Tell them I attacked you from behind – _bloody pirates_ after all. You’ll be fine in about two months.”

She was on the boats railing when she turned around again and smiled at him.

“Also the rudders on both your ships will take some work. That fancy woodwork on your bows…that angel harboured my friends, _quite literally_ , under her wings.”

She was about to jump when he called out, “So this was all planned?”

“Yes my dear, _all_ planned. Few sick dying men sacrificed so the sickest could be put down…now, I would love to chat but, I have my neck to save,” saying which she jumped into the waters below.

Stumbling to the rails, he looked over to see her swim towards a small boat where strong hands pulled her over. Strong current and multiple oars soon carried it beyond his gun’s range…and by the time the canons were loaded and fired, they were too far gone. Besides, all his attention was now focused on the pirate ship on the horizon, which turned out to be a decoy that turned around and disappeared, leaving the two marooned naval ships alone. Within a span of a few minutes, the Admiral was dead, his murderer escaped…and with that Captain Schuyler Huygens’s high flying career grounded.

Revenge indeed was a dish best served cold.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

It was about a year later that he received an unmarked package with a letter. It just contained a few words, -

_Thank you. Because of you ,I rise with the sun, breathe free air and live a free life. If I were to die this very moment, I would be one happy woman._

_Sorry for the inconvenience of a curtailed career. I’m sure you would’ve been brilliant. Just a little something_ more _for your troubles._

There were two books; one had hand drawn maps of the newly discovered islands off the African coast. The next book was hollow, containing a few heavy gold ingots wrapped in thick cloth.

He just sat back and smile. She had really won in the end.

A few years later, sitting in a tavern the Dutch East Indies while exploring the world on his own as he always wanted, he overheard a few sailors discussing about a recent skirmish. They were talking about a tough victory won against the pirates, of note being that the pirate captain was a brown haired woman who was noticeably week in her right wrist. She had chosen to go down with her ship instead of being captured by the Royal Navy.

Consumed by a sudden onset of heaviness in his heart, Schuyler had proceeded to drown himself in drink that night. Later lying in his boat, he saw a vision with the same brown hair, brown eyes and a dimpled smile.

_“Just because they thought I went down, doesn’t mean I really did.”_

He reached out his hand, trying to grab her, to hold on to her and never let go…

….but the world spun and everything became dull and he felt nauseous. The approaching darkness seemed so welcome, _too_ welcome. But something…someone?...was holding him back. Were they calling him? Why were they calling him? The darkness started to fade, the buzzing in his head receded and things started to come back into focus.

Whirl, _whirl, whirl._

Darkness, then bright light, then darkness again.

Was he spinning? He thankfully had stopped. The world started to steady itself.

He wasn’t _alone_.

People…inside a plane?...John, Mary… _Mycroft???..._ Aaaah!

“Missed me?” He knew that would rile them up, couldn’t remember why but he knew it would.

“Sherlock, _Sherlock!_ You ok?” John… good old John.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“’coz you probably OD’d…you should be in a hospital?” Straight to the point as always, Mary.

“No time, I’ve to go back to Baker Street. Moriarty’s back…and I have work to do.”

Oh yes, a lifetime…no, _multiple_ lifetime’s worth of work awaited him and he wouldn’t let something as silly as an _almost_ OD stop him. He knew what Moriarty would do next…he also knew what _he_ needed to do next, and there was no wasting any more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? I surely did. It was one of those moments when I was really happy the way I got the chapter to work out. Please let me know if you like/disliked it.


End file.
